Rainy Sunday Thoughts

When I was out yesterday afternoon waiting on my friends to show up I checked Instagram. Mainly just to kill time. I saw a woman getting ready for a wedding and then I realized something. The woman whose wedding she was getting ready for was the woman who I thought I would marry. That’s the thing about social media, you can cut all ties to the person you were in love with but six degrees of separation is real.

At that moment our lives flashed before my eyes. At that moment I realized she was about to get married while I’m sitting in a bar excited about beer and football. Beer and football? She was the one that didn’t want to settle down, that wanted to run wild and now she’s about to walk to the alter and I’m here?

Life is ironic like that I suppose. You think you know what makes you happy but do you really? My writing is at a place where the words come so naturally. I can see the story in my head and tell it with such ease that I often smile while I’m at my laptop. Is that happiness though? Talent maybe, dedication, but happiness?

A woman once looked me in the eyes and told me that I made beautiful excuses. “They sound amazing Demez but the truth is they’re still excuses. You lost me because you weren’t willing to do what it would take to keep me. You don’t have anything published because you’re more willing to talk about being a great writer than actually writing and taking the chance people won’t like it. I love you but I’m not in love with you anymore. When you wake up and decide to grow up you’ll be an amazing man but I can’t wait for that. Goodbye.” I hated her in that moment because the truth hurts but it was necessary. It changed my life. She’s about to get married and I’ve been up all morning writing, trying to become that amazing man she believed I could become.

Sitting at my desk, watching the rain fall, I often wonder if I’m substituting making memories for writing. Will I have regrets because of the dates I cancelled or the parties I didn’t go to because I’d rather be sitting at this desk creating a story? I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t know if I’ll ever know the answer to that. I just know how I feel when I’m finished telling one of these stories. How I feel when there’s a novel in my hands and I see that finished product. I believe at that moment it’s worth it.